


In My Place

by lemonlipbalm



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Established Relationship, Explicit Consent, M/M, Pegging, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Trans Male Character, Trans Ouma Kokichi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-03
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2019-04-18 01:14:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14201823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemonlipbalm/pseuds/lemonlipbalm
Summary: Momota decides to see if he's capable of taking as much as he gives.





	In My Place

“Hey, Momota-chan,” Ouma says, an impish grin stretching across his face. “I think my dick’s bigger than yours!”

Momota scowls at him, then down at the bright purple strap-on fastened around Ouma’s hips. “Shut up, who the fuck even cares. It's a toy.”

“I don't know, it seems like a bit of a blow to your ego, there,” Ouma teases. His fingers curl loosely around the base of the silicone appendage and then tug upwards slowly, feeling up the length of it. “It's okay, though! It's hard to compete with something that was designed entirely for someone else's pleasure, especially when in comparison you-”

“Okay,” Momota cuts him off, his patience fading fast. “Are we gonna actually do this, or are you gonna sit there running your mouth until my boner dies completely?”

“Aw, relax, Momota-chan. I'm just trying to lighten the mood,” Ouma says. “You look so tense, I just don't wanna hurt you.”

Momota knows that there's a shred of sincerity in that statement, buried deep beneath the fake smile and the gleam in Ouma’s eyes. That doesn't stop him from rolling his own eyes, though, and grumbling, “At this rate you're gonna make me so goddamn tense you won't even be able to get it in.”

He has to wonder how he got to this point, exactly. He recalls Ouma’s first appeals to be the penetrating partner—something about it being equality or whatever, asking if Momota was too scared to try it, and assuring him that it would be fun, really.

_For fun, huh._ Was that why he’d agreed to this? He thought it would be fun? Or did he just not want to back down from a challenge? Was it a matter of pride or of genuine curiosity?

His dick twitches at the same time that his stomach twists, and he tentatively decides that it was a little bit of both, maybe.

His eyes are drawn back into focus at the sound of a bottle uncapping, and he watches Ouma squeeze a handful of lube into his palm. “Not to worry, my dearest Momota-chan! I take prep work very seriously,” Ouma says, spreading the slippery substance over his fingers. “I'll make sure you feel reeaaally good, ‘kay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Momota sighs, letting his head fall back against the pillow. “Just fucking… get on with it already, then.”

“Ooo, someone’s impatient,” Ouma croons, nudging Momota’s thighs apart to plant himself between them. The little bastard seems to be getting a kick out of this already, and they haven’t even started.

Momota isn’t sure what he’s expecting, but it isn’t the sudden cold pressure at his ass. He recoils a bit, knees bending tighter, and Ouma pauses to raise an eyebrow at him. “Something the matter?”

“No, just,” Momota sucks in a breath through his nose and stills himself. “S’cold. Wasn’t expecting that.”

Ouma snorts. “I dunno what you _were_ expecting,” he says as he brings his slimy fingers back to circle Momota’s opening, causing Momota to suppress a shiver. “But whatever. Just ease up, you’ll get used to it.”

“Right,” Momota says, and he steels himself. Of course he’ll get used to it. Of course it’ll feel good. Of course he isn’t nervous, not at all—

Ouma’s middle finger pushes past his rim, and he only barely manages to swallow the very undignified noise that rises in the back of his throat.

“Jeez, Momota-chan,” Ouma says, nonchalantly sliding the digit in up to his knuckles, “I don’t think you should be this tight. You need to loosen up.”

“Easier said than done,” Momota puffs. Still, he tries. He closes his eyes and eases the tension in his thighs, plants his feet farther forward on the mattress and uncurls his toes. The intrusion becomes less startling then. Ouma gives his finger a push and a pull, and then another, and Momota concentrates on the drag of it against his insides and decides that it isn’t so bad. Alright, he thinks. He can do this.

Ouma squeezes another finger into him alongside the first, and Momota’s thighs quiver with the effort that not reflexively clenching around them requires. “How’s that feel, Momota-chan?”

“Would you stop calling me that,” Momota says, even more curtly than he’d intended. “You can call me- call me by my actual given name.”

“Kaito-chan, then.”

“Oh, Christ’s sake- at least drop the stupid cutesy honorific when we’re fucking.”

“My, you’re so concerned with semantics.” Ouma clicks his tongue. Slowly, deliberately, he spreads his fingers apart to stretch Momota further and continues, “You didn’t answer my question, though. I asked how this feels.”

“It’s-” Momota swallows, curls his toes again. “It’s fine. S’alright.”

“Is that it?” Ouma asks, unimpressed. He works both fingers in and out, his careful motions gradually becoming more forceful, and the fingers of his free hand move to wrap around Momota’s dick. “Only half-hard, huh… I’m almost insulted. Don’t tell me I’m boring you.”

“That isn’t my fault,” Momota says. “If it bothers you, then do something about it.”

“Do something about it, you say…” Ouma hums to himself. As the hand on Momota’s dick pulls upwards, the fingers of the opposite probe deeper, as though feeling around for something.

It doesn’t take them long to find it—Ouma’s fingers curve inwards, and Momota’s hips jump as the undignified noise he’d been stifling finally escapes him. That brings a grin to Ouma’s face, and he makes a few faint stroking motions, brief but still enough to make Momota’s breathing ragged. “What do you think, Kaito-chan? That good enough for you?”

Momota can feel the blood rushing between his face and his lower body, causing his head to swim and his groin to stir more. Dimly, he nods, if only because he doesn't want the pressure to be taken away now. “S’good, just… just keep going.”

“Anything for my beloved,” Ouma coos almost teasingly, and with that he presses in a third finger.

It stings at this point, Momota notices, but the sting is offset by the heat pooling in his lower belly and the hand stroking his dick deceptively gently. Ouma is deft, dragging his fingers up the length and letting his thumb circle the head, and it doesn't take long at that rate for Momota to harden fully. He bites down on his lower lip and fights the urge to make noise, if only because his pride is loath to let him express his enjoyment vocally.

Ouma doesn't seem to want that, though. He pushes his fingers up, directly into the spot he’d handled so tenderly before, and Momota’s back arches with the curve of his fingers, a strangled groan spilling from him involuntarily. “ _Fuck_ , Kokichi-”

Ouma smiles, and there's something almost sinister beneath it, as usual. “Hm? What is it?”

Of course he would try and keep Momota talking, knowing how vulnerable he is, knowing how he hates and loves it at the same time. “I don't know if-” he inhales sharply as Ouma curls his digits in again, “dunno if I'll last at this rate-”

“Oh, of course! Silly me, I should've guessed you wouldn't last long,” Ouma says, and Momota gets the sense that he's being insulted but doesn't have the presence of mind for a sharp retort. “That's okay, though. I was looking forward to the main event most, anyway.”

With that, he carefully pulls his fingers out of Momota’s ass, causing Momota’s features to briefly twist into a grimace. After wiping his fingers off on Momota’s thigh—much to the larger man’s disdain—he retrieves the lube again and gracelessly upends the bottle over the strap-on, paying no mind to any excess that dribbles onto the sheets. “Better safe than sorry,” he says in response to Momota’s raised eyebrow, smearing it over the shaft of the toy. “I wouldn’t want to hurt you, after all.”

“Yeah, you’re already enough of a pain in the ass as is,” Momota scoffs, and that prompts Ouma to let out a sharp, genuinely amused laugh.

“That was pretty good,” he admits as he scoots to kneel between Momota’s legs. “More importantly, though: are you ready?”

“About as ready as I’ll ever be,” Momota says. He decides that it’s a good time to redirect his gaze to the ceiling, either so that he doesn’t have to look directly at Ouma or because it makes the inevitable less intimidating if he can’t see it happening.

He feels one of Ouma’s hands ghost over his thigh, and he can’t tell whether the gesture is meant to be a comfort or not. He isn’t given time to think about it. Ouma guides his hips forward and pushes, even as he meets resistance, and Momota grits his teeth as he feels the toy begin to sink into him, stretching him more than Ouma’s fingers could. It burns, not unbearably so but almost enough to make his eyes water and so he squeezes them shut and tosses the back of his forearm across them. He can feel every inch acutely, and he doesn’t need to (or want to) watch Ouma slide close almost too gently for someone like him, or see how much he has left to take.

Ouma pauses when he reaches a certain point, and his hips aren't quite flush with Momota's but he pulls them back anyway, the movement slow and steady. Momota bites down on his tongue this time, not quite hard enough to taste blood but hard enough to ground himself against the urge to whimper. Ouma gives another shallow thrust forward a few moments later, and it feels odd, teetering somewhere on the verge of painful but not quite. Uncomfortable, maybe, but he's almost afraid to shift his hips to try and better accommodate the toy because it already feels like it’s pressing into all of him possible.

Ouma sets the pace and Momota, for once, is fine with that. Ouma is being careful, more so than Momota would've initially given him credit for, and that's all he can ask for. There isn't much Momota can do at this rate anyway besides try to adjust, and slowly, slowly, he thinks he's managing it. He thinks it feels not terrible, maybe even okay.

As Ouma grows more confident, he settles into a more fluid rhythm that causes Momota to grunt with every thrust. His ability to bite back his noises is wearing away along with the skin of his lower lip, still caught between his teeth. Then Ouma rolls his hips at a different angle, and then another, experimental, and Momota’s control abandons him entirely. He lets out a hoarse moan, and he can imagine the smug look that must grace Ouma’s features at that.

“Oh, do you like this?” Ouma asks, slowing down to very deliberately roll his hips again at that slant.

The only affirmation he gets on Momota's part is an involuntary whimper. One of Momota's hands balls itself in the sheets, while the fingernails of the other dig into his clammy palm. He _does_ like it, he thinks, surprising himself. The feeling sends tremors through his thighs and heat straight to his dick. It's foreign, almost overwhelmingly so, and as Ouma continues the calculated push and pull of his hips Momota shudders and wonders just how much of it he can truly take.

“You know,” Ouma drawls, not stopping, “if you're not going to answer me when I talk to you, the least you could do is look at me, Kaito-chan.” And with that, the hand on Momota's dick migrates up to the wrist shielding Momota's eyes and tugs it away, leaving him exposed. Leaving him vulnerable in a way that he wasn't before, somehow.

After a few moments, Ouma pauses. Momota isn't sure what the other man's expression looks like, or even what his own looks like. Embarrassing, he would imagine, given how hot his face feels. A bead of sweat follows the curve of his brow as he keeps his eyes on the ceiling, and his breaths come heavy through his open mouth. He blinks a couple times, hard, and doesn't think about the moisture his lashes gather.

He hates only being able to hear his breathing through the silence, along with his heartbeat pounding in his eardrums. It takes all of a few seconds for it to become unbearable. He finally cranes his neck to cast Ouma an impatient glare. “Hey, what's the holdup-”

His words die in his throat, though, when he meets Ouma's gaze. It's unreadable, blank as it so often becomes when Ouma is pensive. A beat passes, and then the moment is gone, his features settling into a bored look.

“You know, this isn't as fun as I imagined it would be,” he says suddenly. “Actually, it's starting to get suuuper boring.”

“Wha…” Momota wonders if the haze over his mind has taken him in completely or if he actually heard Ouma correctly. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I'm bored,” he replies simply. His gaze casually flicks itself elsewhere as he speaks, as if to emphasize his disinterest. “This is boring me- you're boring me, Kaito-chan. It feels like we're boring each other, even!”

Momota studies Ouma for several long moments. Ouma didn't look or sound bored less than a minute ago. He appears extraordinarily bored now, true to character, and if Momota didn't know him so well he would take the sentiment at face value. Of course Ouma would start to get bored if he's not getting off too, Momota would think, like the selfish little fucker he is.

Now, though, he breathes in slow and shaky. “Kokichi… you don't have to stop here.”

Ouma blinks. “Huh?”

“It's fine. Good, actually. You're not hurting me, if that's what it is you're worried about. So,” he reaches for Ouma's hand, “if it's all the same to you, I wanna keep going. See this through to the end, y'know?”

Ouma gives him a hard, neutral stare. Then he snorts, glancing down at their linked hands, his own tensing in Momota’s grip. “There you go again, assuming things about me. You're so dumb, and predictable, and so,” he sighs, an almost fond note in his voice, “soooo boring.”

“I dunno, it seemed like I caught you off-guard there for a second,” Momota points out, a satisfied half-smile pulling on his lips.

“You must be imagining things,” Ouma says. “I never get caught off-guard by anything, especially big idiots like you.”

“Hey-” Momota is about to argue, but Ouma cuts him off with another sharp thrust.

“But,” Ouma continues, deliberately pressing against Momota’s prostate just to hear his voice pitch up, “if you want it that badly, then I guess I can give it to you… since I just love you _so_ much. Aren’t I so nice?”

“Sh-Shut up,” Momota stammers. “You- you’re the one who wanted this in the first place, asshole.” 

“Oh, but look how well you’ve taken to it!” Ouma says, all of his uncertainty seeming to have melted away. “You said yourself that it feels good, right? That you’re enjoying yourself, riiiight?”

Momota opens his mouth to answer—to tell him to _stop talking for a goddamn minute_ , really—but then Ouma pushes into him hard enough that he nearly bites his tongue. He groans again, wavering and guttural as Ouma quickly returns to his original pace and then pushes even beyond that. Something that burns like pain but isn’t quite that surges up through his stomach, coils in his gut and makes his legs tremble. His hand clutches Ouma’s even tighter, tight enough that he’d worry about hurting him if he could even think straight enough at this point to worry.

Maybe it’s for the best that his tongue is tied, then, because his thoughts are certainly too muddled to connect anything coherent to it. He’s getting close, he realizes—it’s too much, too fast, and he hears his voice break when he moans and doesn’t have it in him to be embarrassed anymore. “Kokichi,” he pants, “ _Kokichi_ -”

“Hm? What is it?” Ouma asks innocently, deliberately slowing his pace, and Momota is hit with a wave of frustration so intense he almost thinks that he could cry.

“ _Fuck_ \- Kokichi, I’m gonna- I’m close-”

“Oh, you’re gonna come?” The question is phrased nonchalantly, and Ouma brings his free hand to wrap around Momota’s dick again, swiping his thumb over the leaking tip of it. Then the self-satisfied smile returns to his face, and his hips pick up the slack again, thrusts hard and deliberate enough to draw a startled cry out of Momota. “Do it, then,” he says, voice low, and as he strokes Momota’s dick in time with his movements, he slots the fingers of his other hand between Momota’s, squeezing it back. “Come for me, Kaito.”

Momota promptly spills over his own stomach with a loud curse.

For a few seconds everything is too hot, too sensitive, too much all over again, and yet Ouma continues to jerk him off until his body slackens. He comes down from his high trembling more than he would like, sweaty fingers still entwined tightly with Ouma’s.

Ouma at least has the courtesy to wait for a minute before carefully pulling out and moving away, causing Momota to wince at the vacancy. Then Ouma eyes his hand, and Momota notes dimly that a bit of his mess dripped onto it. “Don’t-” he tries to say, already knowing what Ouma’s thinking, but Ouma ignores him, making direct eye contact with Momota as he slowly collects it with his tongue. 

Momota groans. “Fucking weirdo.”

Ouma snickers and licks his lips. “You like it,” he says matter-of-factly. “Just like you liked that, huh? I told you it’d be fun!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Momota sighs and brushes his sticky bangs out of his face. “It… wasn’t half bad, I’ll admit.”

“Yeah, that’s really the sense I got from the way you were moaning my name,” Ouma teases, then lowers his voice in a comical effort to mimic Momota’s. “‘Oh, Kokichi! Ah, I’m so close, I’m gonna-’”

“Hey, shut up!” Momota barks, flushing up to his ears. “That is _not_ what I sound like.”

“Whatever makes you feel better, Momota-chan,” he says, and Momota frowns, wishing Ouma could at least stick to calling him one thing. Before Momota can comment on this, though, Ouma puffs out an exaggerated sigh and looks down at the strap-on. “Man… now I’m wishing I’d invested a little more money in something fancier, like one of those strap-ons that gets the wearer off, too… ah, well. Looks like I’ll just have to settle for you instead.”

Momota scoffs. “Settling, huh? Take that thing off and I’ll show you ‘settling’.”

Ouma smirks. “Gladly,” he says, and as he unfastens the harness from around his thin hips, Momota doesn’t think about just how effortlessly Ouma has wrapped him around his finger.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! This is my first time posting something here, so I'm a little nervous... but I really like Oumota, and the trans Ouma headcanon is important to me, so I decided to make the content that I wish to see in the world. Kudos/comments would be much appreciated if you enjoyed, even if they're anonymous, because feedback is pretty much what keeps me going. Thanks for reading!


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